Burgum. The whole is false: My ancestor was not of Norman blood, And John de Bergham never lived at all.
Chatterton. He habited a world within a world-- This globe of fancy, where strange creatures live, And all the business of existence moves Unrecked of, as though on some distant orb.-- Thank heaven! that, being a poet, he dwelt not here.
Bertha. [To Chatterton.] Can nothing be contrived By which my father may derision 'scape?
Chatterton. [To Burgum, after a thoughtful pause.] You are not known in London; what is done Will ne'er to Bristol come: you can give out, Anent the pedigree, 'twas all your joke. Play your cards slowly, and with that same tact With which you bargain for your tin and lead; And, sir, the game is yours.
Burgum. [Chuckling.] To turn the laugh Upon the laughers--good--that is the trick. Come, daughter, come.
Mrs. Angell. 'Tis dark: I'll go before. [Exit Mrs. Angell followed by Burgum.]
Chatterton. O lady, when I said good-by To my dear mother on the cloudy night I took the coach for London, I did feel As though that word were fully charged with grief; But 'twas not so.
Bertha. O, sir, do not despair; And should we never meet again, believe My thoughts will ever wander back to you.
Burgum. [Calling from without.] Come, Bertha.
Bertha. [To Burgum.] Yes! [To Chatterton.] Why so?
Chatterton. If Barrett recommend me strong, I sail for Africa as surgeon's mate.
Bertha. Indeed!--but then you will return.
Bertha. I will not say good-by--good-night.
Chatterton. [Kissing her hand.] Farewell.
[Chatterton sinks upon chair, his elbows resting on table, his face upon his hands. Bertha pauses at doorway, looks back pityingly, and then goes out.]
Chatterton. [Raising his head.] Alone, again alone, yet more alone Than e'er I was before. [After a pause.] The hope is vain. O there is consolation in the thought That though a puppet in the hands of fate A man is born and lives--made now a king, And now, the sport for mocking enemies, He has the power when evils hedge him round, And joy and love and hope have fled for aye, To laugh! ring down the drop, and end the play.
Mrs. Angell. Here is a letter, sir, that came to-day. [Hands letter to Chatterton.]
Chatterton. [To himself.] This is in Barrett's hand: it seals my doom. [Opens letter and reads to himself.] I cannot recommend you for the place Of surgeon's mate--you know too little physic. [Tears up letter and throws pieces on floor.]